


Hey, Little Songbird

by within_a_dream



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Captivity, Forced Crossdressing, Forced Feminization, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Mentions of choking, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape to Maintain Cover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Summary: Jaskier is hired for a party in an isolated manor and finds himself in far over his head
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 329
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nothingbutregret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingbutregret/gifts).



Jaskier should have known that something was wrong the moment he heard the price. He was a good musician, and growing more well-known by the day, but he wasn’t good enough or famous enough to warrant a month’s wages for a weekend of playing. But Count Petrov’s reputation preceded him – a difficult man to work for, exacting and prone to physical punishments of those in his employ. Well, Jaskier had faced worse, and for less pay at that. A few days with an exacting employer wouldn’t harm him irreparably.

It was a day’s ride to the manor, over a mountain trail so narrow that Jaskier feared he would ride straight off of its edge. Not the best estate at which to host a ball. Jaskier was struck by the thought of himself alone with Petrov, the rest of the guests delayed by a sudden snowfall. Or worse yet, adverse weather could trap all of them indefinitely. Jaskier hoped it wouldn’t come to that, or that, if it did, Petrov would offer him a raise.

The ride passed uneventfully, aside from Jaskier’s fears and idle imaginings. He squashed any regrets by reminding himself of the coin waiting for him at the end of this trip (although it was beginning to seem like less of an overbid the longer he spent on this trail). The sun was setting by the time he arrived, and the mountain air had progressed from a bit chilly to bitterly cold, but a small flock of servants was still waiting for him when he arrived.

They looked positively miserable, but at the time Jaskier put that down to their lack of proper clothing for the weather. He tried to pass a few coins to them to soften the blow of standing outside in this weather, but none of them would take it.

A rather mousy young man led him into the manor, insisting on carrying all of his belongings. He responded to all of Jaskier’s jokes with straight-faced nods and ‘yes sir’s and ‘no sir’s, until Jaskier stopped trying. He would have been handsome if he’d smiled, but given his response to normal conversation, Jaskier didn’t fancy trying his hand at flirting, and in any case, the careful deference all of the servants here displayed was a turn-off.

Count Petrov was exactly the sort of man Jaskier had pictured. His clothes were fine but subdued, his beard impeccably groomed, and his face stern, although he broke into a (somewhat unsettling, if Jaskier was being honest) grin when he caught sight of Jaskier.

"Ah, you’ve arrived! Wonderful." He took Jaskier’s arm, fingers tracing over his sleeve in a not particularly subtle manner. It would be one of _those_ jobs, then. The payment began to make more sense. Well, Jaskier had flirted with many employers, and fucked a few, before, and he could do it again.

"I wasn’t sure I would," Jaskier said with his most charming smile. "This is certainly a...secure location."

"Indeed." Petrov returned the smile, although it didn’t reach his eyes. "You must be thirsty after such a long ride. Would you like a drink?"

Jaskier nodded, grateful. Perhaps the rumors of Petrov’s harshness had been exaggerated; not everyone would think tooffer their bard a drink.

Petrov snapped his fingers, and a servant who Jaskier hadn’t even seen rushed off. Perhaps not so exaggerated, then.

The ale was refreshing, albeit with a strange aftertaste. Jaskier drained his mug in one go, and barely had time to wonder where to put it when Petrov gave another wordless order and the servant took it from him.

"Did you like it?" Petrov asked. "It’s our own special blend."

"Very good," Jaskier said pleasantly. That explained the taste. He hoped he wouldn’t die of bad ale, although he had to admit it would be a poetic way to go.

"Allow me to show you to your room." Jaskier waited for another servant to materialize, but it seemed Petrov meant to do this himself.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how Petrov made his ale, but it must have been strong. Petrov had taken his arm as they walked down the hall, and Jaskier would have carefully rebuffed him, but given how much his head was spinning he needed the extra support. The hallways were labyrinths, or maybe Jaskier just couldn’t focus on where he was going. When they stopped in front of a doorway, Jaskier couldn’t have retraced his steps back to the main hall even if promised double his wages to do so.

"Thank you," Jaskier said – tried to say. The words came out slurred. He _knew_ he hadn’t drunk enough to warrant this, no matter how strong the ale had been. "What’d you…"

"Just lie down, darling." Petrov ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier didn’t like that at all, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t speak any more. He’d really gotten in over his head this time.

  
  


Jaskier woke up, and he couldn’t breathe. He scrambled to stand up, his movements more sluggish than he’d like, and found his legs crumpling underneath him.

All right. Deep breath. Look around.

He was in bed – in Count Petrov’s manor, he remembered now. That bastard had drugged him, and now he was fuzzy-headed and wearing someone else’s clothes.

_Women’s_ clothes, he realized. The too-tight corset around his waist was why he couldn’t breathe, and over it was a shimmering slip. He sat up again, slower this time, leaning back on his hands when his head began to spin.

The room was small. There was a window, too narrow to fit through and up a deadly drop from the ground besides. The door was heavy wood, and barred from the outside. The room was bare aside from the bed, and since he couldn’t manage to tear the sheets, he doubted they would be of much use.

The door creaked open.

"Ah, lovely, you’re awake." Petrov’s smug face made Jaskier want to vomit.

He swung at Petrov, managing to land a blow to his face before Petrov got hold of him.

"That was rude," Petrov snarled, his grip on Jaskier’s arm tight enough to bruise.

Jaskier spit in his face.

Petrov slammed Jaskier onto the bed, fist clenched punishingly hard in Jaskier’s hair. "You need to learn to behave."

Jaskier liked to believe he would have come up with a clever retort had he been able to speak. But even if Petrov hadn’t had Jaskier’s face pressed so hard into the bed that it was difficult to breathe, much less speak, Jaskier was distracted by the fingers being forced into his ass.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he screamed. That only urged Petrov on, his probing growing rougher. Jaskier had been fucked before, and not all of his partners had been, strictly speaking, his choice. Some of his employees had had certain expectations, and if it was necessary to earn his pay or preserve a good working relationship, Jaskier was willing to comply. Some of those fucks had been rough – there were men (and women) who enjoyed making their partner squirm. But he’d never had someone so dedicated to hurting him. Petrov forced his dick inside of Jaskier (too soon, too rough) and Jaskier did his best to relax, but _fuck_ this bastard was going to tear him open.

One small mercy – Petrov didn’t last long. It only took a few minutes for him to spend into Jaskier with a muffled grunt. He slapped Jaskier on the ass as he pulled out.

"A disappointing performance, but you’ll learn."

"You weren’t much to speak of yourself," Jaskier said. He shouldn’t do this, some faraway part of him said, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. "I haven’t had a fuck that bad since I was still wet behind the ears. I have to say, I expected more."

Petrov flipped Jaskier over, one hand wrapped around his throat. He tightened his grip until Jaskier’s vision was going black around the edges and leaned in close, breath hot against Jaskier’s face.

"You’ll hold your tongue if you want to live," he snarled. "Don’t forget who’s the master here."

In that moment, Jaskier really believed Petrov might kill him. He gasped and kicked and clawed at Petrov’s hands, but he was still weak from the drugs and Petrov was stronger than he appeared. Finally, Petrov let up his grip. Jaskier couldn’t even move, weak-limbed and gasping for breath.

"Remember this, pet." Petrov patted Jaskier on the head, and pulled a vial from his jacket. He held it to Jaskier’s lips, not moving until Jaskier swallowed every drop. It was bitter on his tongue, sliding down his throat with a disturbing slickness. "Sleep well," Petrov said, leaving Jaskier sprawled on the bed.

Jaskier slipped into a dream-filled half-sleep, filled with scattered images of Petrov fucking him and strangling him and caressing him.

  
  


The next time, Petrov led him out of the room. Jaskier tried to track their movements, but Petrov had made him drink another vial of that infernal potion and it was all he could do to stay upright. Their destination was opulent, filled with fine furniture and gold leaf. The bed faced a large mirror, polished and shining.

"Sit down," Petrov said, shoving him onto the bed. Jaskier was too woozy to resist.

"Just get this over with," he said, words slurring.

"You told me last time that you were disappointed in my performance." Petrov stroked Jaskier’s hair, a parody of a lover. "I intend to rectify that."

Oh, no. Oh, shit. Jaskier hadn’t wanted what happened last time, but he certainly didn’t want this. "Fuck off."

"I don’t think I will." Petrov took a jeweled box from the side table. "Now, behave, pet."

Jaskier had thought the corset a passing whim, or something left over from a previous victim. But Petrov took a small tin filled with a bright red balm out of the box, and Jaskier began to see what his captor meant for him.

Petrov grabbed Jaskier’s face, forcing a pout onto his lips. "Normally I would have a maid do this," Petrov said, dabbing the wax on Jaskier’s lips, "but why deny myself the pleasure of your first transformation?" His grip tightened on Jaskier’s jaw, and then he released him, smearing the remaining wax on the sheets. He rouged Jaskier’s cheeks next, the powder a surprisingly subtle pink. Then Petrov turned Jaskier to face him, bringing a brush dipped in kohl the corner of Jaskier’s eye. It took everything Jaskier had not to flinch away. The brush dragged over his skin, raising goosebumps, and Petrov’s gaze drilled into him. Petrov moved agonizingly slowly, but finally he set the kohl aside, guiding Jaskier back to face the mirror.

Jaskier didn’t recognize his reflection. His lips were vivid, his cheeks were flushed prettily, and his eyes hooded and inviting. The corset gave him the illusion of full hips, and he could almost see the ghost of a bosom under his slip. Only his hair broke the illusion, still short and tousled. He hoped with everything he had that he wouldn’t be trapped here long enough for it to grow out.

Petrov nudged Jaskier onto his hands and knees. Jaskier hated himself for obeying, but he just didn’t have the strength to resist. He should have fought. A better man would have fought to the death rather than let himself be humiliated like this. But Jaskier always had been good at taking the path of least resistance.

Petrov’s hands were gentle, this time. He slipped into Jaskier with oil-slick fingers, feeling out the places that made Jaskier bite back gasps. His cock slipped in gently too, and the drugs kept Jaskier from tensing up. Jaskier pressed his face to the bed, hoping perhaps to smear the color from his face, only to find himself yanked back by the hair.

"Watch," Petrov murmured, forcing Jaskier’s face level with the mirror. "I don’t want you missing any of this."

Petrov didn’t have to hold him in place for long. Jaskier followed orders like a good boy, loathing every inch of the face he saw in the mirror. The red of his lips had smeared at the edges, ruining Petrov’s perfect lines. If he shut his eyes, Petrov would see. Jaskier set his jaw and focused on the bedpost, trying to let Petrov’s caresses and moans wash over him instead of sinking deep into his skin and filling him with a poisonous self-loathing.

He couldn’t hold back his gasp when Petrov grabbed his cock. Jaskier tensed, making Petrov moan.

"You’re so beautiful like this," Petrov murmured in Jaskier’s ear. "I’m so glad you’ve learned to behave"

The words sunk their claws into Jaskier’s neck, making his skin crawl. Behaving. Lying down and letting Petrov fuck him. Giving in to the pleasure building in his gut as Petrov stroked his cock. Jaskier sunk inside himself, disgust washing through him. It was someone else who spent into Petrov’s hand, moaning in undeniable pleasure. It was someone else who Petrov pressed into the bed as he finished, streaming streaks of red and black and pink across the quilt as he forced Jaskier’s face into it. It was someone else whose tears streaked kohl down his face as he was walked back to his own bedroom, Petrov’s hand heavy on his neck. Jaskier let that other man get into bed and shut his eyes, not bothering to wipe the color from his face or the spend from between his legs. Shame followed him bitter and heavy into sleep.

  
  


When Jaskier awoke the next morning, a timid young woman was staring nervously at him.

"My lord wants you dressed for breakfast," she whispered, barely audible.

The door was open, and Jaskier and the girl were alone. He looked around, then said to her, voice low, "We can get out of here.I’ll take you with me, please, just help me find my way out – "

She clapped a hand over his mouth. More initiative than he’d expected of her, albeit in the wrong direction. "Don’t let him hear you say that. If you’re not down in time, we’ll both be punished."

Jaskier didn’t have it in him to resist, not if it would only mean two people hurt instead of one. He let the girl dress him and make him up, holding back his comments about being overdressed for a morning at home. His new maid didn’t seem like the type who would appreciate jokes.

Petrov sat Jaskier next to him at the table, one hand resting on his shoulder.

"I trust you slept well."

Jaskier nodded cautiously. Petrov smiled at him, a terrifying attempt at cheeriness. He nodded to a servant, who brought two plates to the table. Petrov’s was piled high with meat, grease spilling over the sides. Jaskier's held a single thinly-sliced piece of bread.

"Wouldn’t want you to lose your figure," Petrov said.

Jaskier ate his bread slowly, afraid of drawing Petrov’s wrath. He drank the ale Petrov had poured for him, tasting the drug bitter on his tongue.

Every time Petrov put a hand on him, Jaskier expected to be pulled to the bedroom, or bent over the nearest flat surface. But Petrov left him alone, aside from a deeply unpleasant kiss once he’d finished his breakfast. Petrov took Jaskier to his study after breakfast, leaving Jaskier to sit across from him as he worked. He mostly ignored Jaskier, although he snapped out a reprimand when Jaskier began to slouch. It seemed that most of Jaskier’s duties would be to sit quietly and look pretty.

Petrov didn’t fuck Jaskier that night. After dinner (duck for Petrov, bread with a bit of butter for Jaskier), Jaskier was allowed to retire to his bedchamber alone. His maidservant helped him out of his dress and into a slip, although the corset stayed on no matter how much Jaskier pleaded with her.

His days continued in much the same manner. Some days Petrov fucked him roughly, some days sweetly, and some days not at all. Between the drugs and the paltry meals, Jaskier couldn’t have resisted even if he’d wanted to – and he wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted to. Easier to lie back and do as Petrov said. He still kept a half-hearted eye out for escape opportunities, but Petrov kept his manor locked down tightly. The days blurred together, nothing to separate one from another, and Jaskier began to grow used to captivity.

  
  


One day the maidservant brought out a fine gown, with expensive fabric and jewels sewn into the bodice. "My lord is having guests," she said in response to Jaskier’s inquisitive glance. (He didn’t ask questions anymore. He didn’t speak much at all.) She did his hair up in elaborate braids, fastening them with jewel-encrusted hairpins. She took extra care with the lip tint and kohl, smiling faintly when she finished.

"All right, then," she said. "The guests will want to meet you."

Petrov took pride in showing Jaskier off. "She’s a fine woman, isn’t she?" he said, pulling Jaskier’s head back to expose the plane of his neck to the men gathered in the great hall.

"Fine indeed," one of them said, leering. He caught Jaskier looking and licked his lips. Jaskier looked back to the ground.

"You’re welcome to try her out," Petrov said. "What’s mine is yours, eh?"

Jaskier peered up through his lashes at the men, trying to gauge just how hellish of a day this would be. The one who’d spoken looked like he could be pacified with a bit of cooperation on Jaskier’s part, as did a few of the others, but there was a dark-haired fellow in the back whose grin chilled Jaskier to the bone. There was man off to the side hiding his face, although his hair looked familiar –

Their eyes met, and despite everything that had been beaten out of him, Jaskier still had to restrain himself from shouting.

_Geralt._


	2. Chapter 2

A miller had hired Geralt this time, to search for his daughter Danitsa. She’d gone away to work at a nearby manor and had slowly dropped out of contact. The man insisted this manor’s owner was a vampire who had been stealing the youth of the village for years. Geralt thought it far more likely that he was facing a more human sort of monster, but the man was willing to pay and Geralt had iron in his scabbard as well as silver.

The count was having a party and, luckily for Geralt, he was thrilled to meet the famed Butcher of Blaviken. Geralt brought out his most gruesome war stories, and nodded along when the count leered at the local women. This Count Petrov was certainly an unpleasant man, although whether he was a monster of any sort remained to be seen.

The company wasn’t any more pleasant, although at least the food was good. None of the servants in the hall looked like Danitsa; hopefully there would be time to explore the castle and speak to the servants later. The servants Geralt _did_ see were gaunt and timid, making him worry for Danitsa’s fate.

After the meal, Petrov brought out a painfully thin woman wearing a gown that even Geralt could tell was expensive. Petrov introduced her as his wife, his hand tight enough around her arm that it must be bruising. "You’re welcome to try her out," he said, and Geralt began to see the purpose of the party.

The woman met his eyes, and – no, that was a man, a man Geralt knew. _Jaskier._

"Shall we let our honored guest go first?" Petrov nodded to Geralt.

Geralt gave him a nod back, trying not to show his disgust. He waited for Petrov to offer anything else, but the man stayed silent. Was he meant to fuck Jaskier dry, then? Geralt put his hand on Jaskier’s waist, wincing at the curves he felt. He’d seen Jaskier naked, and the man had had much more meat on his bones than this, and nothing like the pinched-in waistline Petrov had left him with. He couldn’t have been eating well, given the haggard lines of his face, and his hair was brittle under the hair oil.

Not knowing what else to do, Geralt leaned in to kiss him. Jaskier kissed back with a stiff sort of passion, all of the action with none of the emotion. Jaskier kept his eyes open, still looking startled at Geralt’s presence.

"A romantic," Petrov said, and damn it all, he wasn’t going to let Geralt forget his presence for a moment. "I trust you find her passable."

"A gem," Geralt grunted, and he barely recognized the slight amusement playing at the corners of Jaskier’s lips. Geralt kissed along his neck to his ear, using the proximity to whisper, "I’m going to get you out of here."

Jaskier nodded, almost imperceptible. "Oh, fuck me," he said, an exaggerated tremor in his voice.

"She’s always desperate for it," Petrov said. Geralt wanted to punch the smugness off of his face. Instead, he swept Jaskier to the ground, hiking his skirt up. Better to get this over with.

When he slipped a finger in to Jaskier’s arse, it met with a warm slickness rather than resistance. They’d prepared him – that might be the only thing Geralt would thank Petrov for that night. He slid into Jaskier, watching his face carefully. This couldn’t be pleasant, being fucked with no preamble on a stone floor, but Jaskier showed no reaction.

Geralt pressed another kiss to the shell of Jaskier’s ear. "Is there a girl here, Danitsa? Short, blonde, quiet."

Jaskier let out the ghost of a laugh. He might have made a joke there, had this conversation been happening in any other context. Geralt’s heart ached for the absence. "They don’t tell me the servants’ names," he whispered. "No one is here of their own accord."

More rescues, then. Geralt sighed. Getting Jaskier out would have been tricky. Finding a girl he’d never seen in a castle he’d never been to, while possibly helping even more people escape, with his only ally clearly in no position to fight – that was near impossible, even for him, even if Petrov hadn’t made him leave his swords at the door.

Jaskier bit his lip, his brow furrowing ever so slightly in concentration, and then tightened his thighs around Geralt’s waist and flipped them both, sinking all the way down on his cock. He let out an absolutely obscene moan, and for a moment, Geralt forgot where they were. All he wanted was to let Jaskier ride him like this, feeling him tight and willing around his cock, watching his face.

Petrov laughed, joy laced through with something darker. "Oh, she’s fond of you. She won’t do that for everyone."

And just like that, Geralt’s arousal turned bitter and sour. He looked back up at Jaskier, seeing the way his pleasure was pasted on over a deep fear. His grip on Jaskier’s waist tightened.

Jaskier bent down to nip at Geralt’s earlobe. "Just finish this," he hissed. Whether he meant the fuck or his captor, Geralt couldn’t say. Geralt shut his eyes, pushing Jaskier’s garish makeup and Petrov’s horrid commentary out of mind. He was alone, with Jaskier, and they were fucking like Geralt had pretended he didn’t want for so long. Perhaps in one of the rooms they’d shared at an inn, during one of the many nights Jaskier had nearly shoved Geralt off of the bed with his infuriating ability to expand the sprawl of his limbs to take up the entirety of any mattress. They were alone, and Jaskier was willing, and those moans he was letting out were entirely genuine. Geralt would have wanted Jaskier in his mouth first, but perhaps Jaskier was too desperate for it. He’d slicked himself with oil and pinned Geralt to the bed before Geralt could even kiss him. They were alone, and Jaskier was so tight around his cock, and Geralt had been waiting for this for so long –

Geralt came with a shout. Jaskier slid off of him, looking over at Petrov through lowered eyelids.

"All right," Petrov said, smiling sharply at Jaskier, "who’s next?"

  
  


Geralt had to sit back and watch as man after man fucked Jaskier, leaving his dress streaked with spend and his face red from the effort of swallowing their cocks down. Geralt crept ever closer to his swords as Petrov forgot about him, the allure of his esteemed guest fading in comparison to watching Jaskier brutalized. One man looked like he was about to strangle Jaskier to death, hands tight around his throat, and Geralt would have killed him with his bare hands, consequences be damned, if Petrov hadn’t called him off.

"She’s far too precious to replace," he said, eyes cold, and the man loosened his grip.

When the guests had all finished, Petrov snapped his fingers, and Jaskier limped to him. Petrov kissed him, the red of Jaskier’s lips smearing across both of their faces. Without a word, Jaskier sat on Petrov’s lap, not able to keep the pain out of his moan when Petrov entered him. He flung his head back in mock-pleasure, meeting Geralt’s eyes.

Geralt inclined his head towards his sword, now within reach, and Jaskier nodded slightly. Jaskier reached into his bodice, by all appearances groping at his chest, and then slammed his fist down on Petrov’s thigh.

Petrov howled, something silver protruding from his leg. That was a dagger – _Geralt’s_ dagger. Jaskier must have pocketed it, the tricky little bastard.

Geralt swung his sword through the air, giving a wordless shout. When he had the guests’ attention, he growled, "Get away from your weapons." When one of the men (the strangler, Geralt noted with distaste) hesitated, Geralt said, "I am Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken. I don’t like your odds here."

Jaskier had gotten to his feet, moving his knife to Petrov’s throat. "We need rope," he said.

"Kill him quickly, or I will," Geralt said. "I have a job to finish."

"He’s going to pay for this." Jaskier sighed when Geralt shook his head, already sounding more like the man Geralt remembered. "Literally pay, you dolt. Do you really think he’s been paying the servants’ wages? We need him to find the key to his treasury, and I’d rather like him to stand trial. And leave those bastards alone too, while you’re at it."

"I don’t have any rope."

Jaskier rolled his eyes. "Might there perhaps be a houseful of captives familiar with this man’s stores who could help with that?"

Fuck, his job. Geralt kept his sword pointed at the men and stepped closer to the hall, where he’d seen servants scurrying by. "Is there a Danitsa Vasilev here? Her father misses her."

A flurry of footsteps, and then a young woman stepped into the hall. Jaskier seemed to recognize her. She smiled at them both, face drawn.

"We need to tie these arseholes up," Jaskier said. "And tell everyone their contracts have been terminated."

The servants were efficient, Geralt would give them that. He got the men all securely bound and stowed away somewhere safe, grudgingly bandaging Petrov’s leg before he did so.

There weren’t enough horses to get everyone down from the mountain. Geralt sent Danitsa off first, to gather a party to bring the rest of the servants home.

Once they’d finished delegating, Jaskier leaned against Geralt with a sigh. He must have been _exhausted,_ Geralt realized with a stab of guilt.

"Get this bloody thing off me," Jaskier said, his voice hoarse. "And I hope you brought extra clothes, because I’m sure that bastard destroyed mine long ago."

"They won’t fit you." Geralt fumbled with the ties on Jaskier’s corset. It must have been biting into his skin terribly; he cursed Petrov for the thousandth time that night.

"Do you think I care?" Jaskier asked. "Anything is better than this. And…"

"Hm?" Geralt said after he trailed off into silence.

"I hope you won’t think me terribly forward," Jaskier said, humor peeking through the weariness in his voice, "if I ask whether you’d be amenable to another try at tonight, without the audience and without the bloody corset."

Geralt hadn’t dared hope. He nodded, unable to even gather the words to answer.

Jaskier sighed happily as Geralt finally got the last of the knots in the corset undone, revealing pale skin marked deep with the lines of the boning. "Let’s get the hell out of here."


End file.
